52nd Hunger Games: Survival Of The Wittiest
by CandyHeartless
Summary: Two years after the Second Quarter Quell, people want more. They want something exciting. This is why, the Tributes this year have no idea what's awaiting them. Welcome to the 52th Hunger Games! May the odds be ever in your favor. SPONSOR SYSTEM AVAILABLE. NOT A SYOT. Please read, it's a lot better than it sounds! Pick yourself a favorite and you can even help him/her.


**A/N: **Welcome to the 52nd Hunger Games fanfiction! First of, this isn't a SYOT. I have my reasons, I mean I feel weird having to write off someone else's character. This fanfic will be centered on a handful of 12-14 people from the start, the rest will all be bloodbaths.

However, since I want this to be interactive, I've added a Sponsor System, so just read about it at the end. :)

Anyway, please read and enjoy this story! I didn't want to drag out the Reapings, so there will be 3-4 chapters with these. And I don't have a Prologue, sorry! x( Some reviews or feedback of any kind would be great, because I'd like to know if the story is worth continuing.

**Survival of the Wittiest: 52nd Hunger Games**

**-CHAPTER ONE-**

**[ Reapings in Districts 1, 2 and 4 ]**

**_District 1_**

"Rimen Lennox!"

Her nose scrunched up lightly and she allowed her eyes to browse through the people. _Lennox, Lennox… I've heard this name before… It's that family with tons of children. I wonder who is it this time?_ She caught the motion of a crowd who broke apart, allowing the reaped girl to move up towards the stage. Her hair was strawberry blond, freckles spread across her cheeks. _What do you know, it's the nerdy Lennox._ She didn't give her the chance to take more than a step forward before she slid away from her spot, hand rising triumphantly up in the air.

"I volunteer," Tarim called out in a somewhat impassive monotone. It felt like it was normal. Like she had been born for this, training all her life, studying all of the previous Games until she grew unaffected by the images. The blood and gore between the walls of the Arena were of… an incredible disinterest for her.

There was no surprise to hear such a thing in a place like District 1. Here, as well as in District 2, people volunteered one by one, almost every year. Rimen's mother looked beyond relieved as Tarim moved forward the stage, escorted by Peacekeepers. She stomped up on the stage, fingers flickering in a delicate wave, next to their Escort, a finely dressed man whose attire contrasted with his red hair, ruffled upwards like a flaming fire.

"And what is your name, our brave heart?" _Your 'brave heart'? It's nothing of bravery, it's tradition._

"Tarim Grace," she responded and flicked her dark eyes towards him, remembering to flash a small, charming smile.

"Tarim," he repeated and smoothly rolled his arm over her shoulders, making her cringe. "Tarim Grace, everyone! District 1's girl in the 52nd Hunger Games!" His arm slipped away and he reached into her hand, flicking it up in the air through the music of excited and encouraging applauses.

It was fascinating. A smile, a prideful smile, started to grow on her face, heart pumping that adrenaline that her parents had always told her she would feel when she became a Tribute. It was her place, right there, on the stage. Her smile faded into an actual grin, a giggle leaving her lips as she pulled her hand back down.

"Now, now…" The escort cleared his throat and started motioning towards the crowds as he pleaded for silence. "We, as well as Tarim, have all the time in the world to celebrate. It's time to find out the name of our victorious boy, don't you agree?" Screams of delight came from the crowds. It was like a lottery in front of an eager audience.

He moved away from Tarim, towards the bowl with the names of the boys. His fingers swam above the names a little bit, before they danced through the papers. Once he had chosen a piece of paper, he returned by Tarim's side and the girl was gradually growing a bit frustrated by his obvious intents of being around her.

He opened the paper, "Augustin Baze!"

A cry of victory was heard from his direction. Left and right, he was spreading high-fives, fists clenching mightily. It was clear that his reaction didn't leave any open spaces for volunteers. Even Tarim had heard about this Augustin. Apparently, he had done nothing but do things that would lead to having his name inserted as many times as he could, just so his chances went higher. It was his last year and, therefore, he wouldn't take no for an answer.

"Come up here, Augustin," the Escort invited. Augustin basically leaped up on the stage, over the stairs, all of his actions concluding with moments of veneration from the crowds.

Tarim's eyes were focused on him and they weren't too pleasant looking. He was _way_ too much of a showman and he didn't even bother to acknowledge her presence. He was already outshining her and that was a problem. She furrowed her brows and grunted as she arranged her side fringe and her slightly spiked towards the edges dark hair. She wasn't too much of a looker, either. Not right now. But he was dressed neatly in a platinum suit, his hair was blond and spiked upwards visibly (the ends of his hair were brown).

"Alright," the Escort cleared his throat. "Here we have this year's Tributes, with the honor of representing District 1 in the 52nd Hunger Games: Tarin Grace and Augustin Baze!" More applauses and whistles. Augustin's chin was raised proudly, a subtle smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. Tarim went into her charming mode, waving here and there and flashing smiles. "Shake hands, you two."

Tarim turned towards Augustin, whom was visibly more bothered by his moments of fame. They both shook hands absently and, since Augustin wasn't too interested in the girl, Tarim took the freedom of glaring.

5- & -2

**_District 2_**

"My Goodness! Soreen, you look absolutely gorgeous." Her mother was on the verge of breaking out in tears. If she didn't know better, Soreen might have thought that the reason was a graduation or an 18 year old party… perhaps even her wedding. It wasn't, it was merely the forest green dress which she was about to wear at that year's Reaping ceremony.

Soreen smiled tiredly, sliding down the stairs as she arranged her sunny blonde curls over her shoulders.

"I'm sure you will make an impression," her mother murmured through sobs and squeezed the girl's shoulders, gently. There was a glisten of pride in the woman's eyes. Soreen already knew that it was because she was convinced that this would be Soreen's year. Her daughter never wanted to volunteer, so the only chance would be direct reaping. Apparently, the woman had restrained any other girl from volunteering.

"I'm sure, too," Soreen replied with a crooked smile, an eyebrow rising. "Let's just hope that nobody will volunteer, right?"

It was already almost the beginning of the Reaping when Soreen arrived, hand-in-hand with her mother and aunt. He'd known Soreen for a while now, from distance mostly. Dormund Paddosh had always admired how she stood out through her _grace_. Most of the girls who were trained as Careers were plain brutal. Not like he could had known, he, like a big majority of the boys, had lost interest in the Games since District 2 had stopped winning. It was a powerful hit for a Career District to not see their Tributes crowned anymore.

"…ladies first."

Dormund jolted lightly, his eyes piercing through his thick, dark locks which curved over his forehead. He had completely spaced off. By the time he was back in his senses, the Escort was already on the stage, with a girl's name in her hands. Her lips curved up in a smile.

"Soreen Lorillard!"

Soreen's pinkish, glossed lips parted lightly. She only blinked once, numbly and frowned at the sound of her mother's happy squeal. _It's so annoying…_ She didn't turn to look around at the woman. Rather than having to live for another year with that charade of 'preparing for the Games', she'd have to step out. She had talked to a Career girl before, told her to volunteer if Soreen didn't step up on the stage. So, she had to do it. That sound that echoed from her mother's lips was the last drop.

She stepped out of the group, waltzing on the tips of her toes towards the stage, chin raised high with grace. She accepted with a curtsy the Escort's hand, helping herself up on the stage, with the echo of some collected applauses in the background.

"You look absolutely wonderful, dear," the woman squealed out, hands cupped at her chest. "I'm sure you will gain _plenty_ of sponsors!" Then, she twirled around and faced the people present, once more. "It's time for the boys!" Same process. She tip-toed towards the bowl of names, chose one and then returned to her spot. Whoever it was going to be, Soreen had already agreed on befriending the boy. She hoped it wouldn't be some killing machine, first of all, because it would make him a lot harder to get along with.

"Diniell Armstrong!"

_Not the Armstrong kid._ He was Dormund's neighbor. A nice, studious kid, with big ambitions. Big, real ambitions. He didn't want to win a stupid game, by taking innocent lives. He wanted to change the world, maybe one day to end up at the Capitol, propose some changes. He was only _twelve_ years old. And his face was completely pale. Dormund's throat dried out. _I can't do this. My life is over, anyway._

"I volunteer!" he called out and stepped into the middle of the crowds. _My life stopped having a meaning ever since I lost my blood thirst. It's useless. This kid has lots of things ahead._

"…Okay," the Escort nodded a few times and she stretched her arm out, with a welcoming smile. "Come up here, handsome. What's your name?"

"Dormund Paddosh."

"Oh! Well, congratulations! You and Soreen have gained the honor of representing District 2 in these years Games!"

5- & -2

**_District 4_**

When he stood there, up on the stage, his hand stroked by the Escort's long nails, all that he could really think about was _everything._ His entire life and how he had spent it, but especially the conversation he'd had with her earlier. He realized that he was right, all along. She was a stranger to him and, most of all, that one person he could never tell truth apart from lie from.

_He was still bent over his rucksack, struggling to give a decent shape to the clothing that he was about to lay down inside it. Of course, there were the chances that he could get reaped, just like it happened with anyone else. And if that was the deal, then he couldn't take any belongings with him. If it wasn't that case, then he'd have to sprint away from that house as soon as possible._

"_What are you doing, Freid?"_

_Freidrich raised his eyebrows and let out a sigh as he closed the bag. Judging by the muffled tone of her voice, she was probably munching on something. And when he turned around, there she was—leaned in the doorframe, a short dress on her which didn't make her look vulgar whatsoever, that black, straight hair with a fringe, her olive skin, her green eyes… they were gazing upon him with a dry curiosity._

"_I'm packing," he replied with a bitter smirk, pushing his hair backwards._

"_I can see that," she replied with a glance through her eyelashes and a playful smile, lowering her apple, "But why? You know you're not going to a resort for the Games, right?"_

"_Actually, we are."_

"_It's not a hotel," she continued and rotated her shoulders, "You can't bring along whatever you want with you." Her expression emptied and she simply let her eyes focus up and down on him, as his very own similarly shaded eyes stared towards her indifferently._

"_You're… going to move out," she concluded with a click of her tongue. His plain reply was a nod, for he was actually really curious about her reaction. It was a small nod, her tongue rolling around and then, with another bite on the apple, she turned around on her heel and left._

"Parvati Raisforth!"

When her name was called, there was a part of him that jumped lightly. He could had sworn that he'd never seen her inside of a training gym, doing anything to grant her survival. He wouldn't go as far as to wish her death, but he couldn't get to think any further on his reaction, for another girl jumped out, eagerly.

"I volunteer!" she said. And then she was welcomed on the stage, but he didn't get to look at her, all he could see was Parvati, drawn up in a perfectly straight position, a roughly neutral expression on her face. His eyes snapped back to the stage immediately—

"Freidrich Raisforth!"

All eyes were then fixed on him, some curious, some wondering. Most of them were awed by the coincidence of having their names both called. It wasn't a coincidence, though. He knew for sure that his own name had been inserted several times, but he wasn't sure about Parvati. The Escort insisted that he came up to join the volunteered girl on the stage, so he had to oblige. He set foot on the stage and then, much to his incredible surprise, he heard an "Excuse me" from Parvati's voice.

The Escort blinked, rather puzzled. "Yes, dear…? Can I, um, help you?"

"Not you personally, thanks," Parvati flashed a brilliant smile as she shook her head and she rapidly waved a hand at the volunteered girl. "You? What was your name?" Nobody knew what to do or say for a moment. Even the girl herself was rather unsure.

"Um… Arya Bidgorph…" she uttered and ended up raising her eyebrows.

"Yes, well, Arya… I want my spot back." Silence all over. Parvati was again the one to shatter it, "I'd like to have my spot as a Tribute back. I never agreed to hand it over."

* * *

**SPONSOR SYSTEM: **

x In order to be able to sponsor your favorite tribute and, possibly, lead him/her to win, you must:

.**Leave at least ONE review.**

.**Follow OR Favorite this story.**

x The System will accept Sponsors until the start of the Games.

x You can't purchase items until the start. Moreover, I'll make a list of buyable items only when the Games start.

x You will receive a starter budget (consisting of 10 points) that you can use to buy basically one item. Here are some ways to receive more points:

.Review = **5 pts. each.**

.Five Reviews in a row = **7 pts.**

.Ten Reviews in a row = **10 pts.**

.Review + personal opinion on Tributes/story = **7 pts.**

.Place a bet/vote in a poll = **5 pts.**

.Guess the bet = **15 pts.**

.Leave mutts/Arena destruction ideas = **3 pts.**

.**GRAND PRIZE**/Guess this year's Arena = the one who gets the closest to the real thing will receive **30 pts.** Every chapter, aside from this one, will have a clue at the end.

**Polls will be up starting with the arrival to Capitol.**


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